fragments -C



The day is long
like a train that rumbles past
offering signals and swift sights
and into the night
reminding of the final
crescendo...

And I in my paper wrapper
watching time go by
transmit and send
observing juices of hours
flooding by...

Unrecorded time is noted
but stilled in recollection and
transmission

Not like the touch of hair
on spine
in sensuous language
the record speaks for itself-
images enliven
the essence and
become
real

and tho only glimpsed
in passing
leave an impression
for others to wonder at,
like the quicksilver
disappearance of
your breath 
on mine..

phoebe


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